


Locked, Door, Wall

by idharao



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Astaire/Rogers RPF, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers - Fandom, RPF - Fandom
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Wall Sex, rehearsal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:02:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idharao/pseuds/idharao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fred has Ginger against a wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked, Door, Wall

He has her against the wall, two fingers buried deep inside her, working his hand so that she says his name again, again, again. His slacks are undone, and the playback of the song they were dancing continues on in the background. A good record player doesn't wind down. It covers a multitude of sins: missed taps, laughter, swearing, conversation... and that of adultery.

She is writhing a little, gasping for air. He's holding one leg bent at the knee and her skirt is shoved carelessly up her thigh. He has time to think that she smells good, sweet like fruit and clean like soap. He kisses her hard, possessively. Her arms are tight around him and she's taut like a bowstring.

He complained about his hands when he was younger, because they were lamentably large. But not one word of protest has ever come from his partner, who seems to enjoy the fact. When he mentioned it, a smile just this side of salacious came over her features, and she replied that she didn't see a problem.

She comes with her face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder, moaning his name. He really does like the sounds she makes, and the way his hand is wet and slides easily between her legs. He likes that every time he does it she makes the same little catching sigh. She bites her lip and looks up at him with the desire written plainly on her face. It sends a pang of want to his core, spreading through him as if it were in his blood. He wonders how she does this, how she manages to affect him like this.

"I hope you locked the door," she says a moment later. He has yet to move, to even take his hand out from under her clothes. She bites her lips together as he slides his fingers around, exploring.

"Mm-hm," he hums into her mouth. It isn't the first time this has happened, and by now they have a modus operandi. He withdraws his hand, wet and shining. She makes the most delicious sound when he pushes inside of her. He finds it amazing that no one has any idea, especially since she's not quiet. She moans his name in a way that makes him hard, so hard, and he isn't used to feeling such intensity. His wife is different; she's so much more sedate and stylish in life and it extends to their private life. She's his oasis of calm.

But his partner is his partner and she's an athlete and a dancer. Her legs are miles long and her body is curved and taut. She knows his body because they are in physical contact for hundreds of hours. He knows her body because she fits against him like a puzzle piece. He hadn't expected that he had the capacity for such expansive emotions, but so he did. They're used to being in close, sweaty proximity, so this is nothing unfamiliar.

He's so turned on it doesn't take long and when he comes she lets him pin her to the wall, hard. He says her name once, and buries his face in her neck. They're both still for a long moment, and then she nudges him. "What time are they coming back?" The assistant choreographer and the accompanist are both eating lunch.

"Soon." He kisses her again, forcing her mouth open as wide as it will go. It's a reminder, but she never really forgets.


End file.
